


Whose Demon

by gritsinmisery



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gritsinmisery/pseuds/gritsinmisery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What we would have liked to have seen happen in the dungeon during <i>The King's Demons</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whose Demon

**Author's Note:**

> The only changes I had to make to the "real" story (if I remember correctly) were that the companions were sent to find the Doctor's TARDIS, not a horse, for Sir Geoffrey, and that the Doctor didn't go with them. This leaves the Doctor alone in the dungeon with the Master.
> 
> For all us Five/Master shippers who loved it when Peter took on Anthony nose-to-nose and pretty much lost despite what the script said, here it is:

Whose Demon?

_"Hold!" King John rose. “We give you the choice, our demon. The maiden shall embrace this sniveling wretch, or Sir Geoffrey. Choose, our demon. Come, the lady waits, impatient to lavish her warm favors. Come, our demon.”_

What a choice: an innocent human, or his oldest friend and enemy trying once again to change Earth’s history and create chaos, but unable to regenerate. The Doctor’s face fell. He handed over his sword and listened – back to the scene, his face in anguish -- to the screams of the Master as the door to the iron maiden was forced closed. Suddenly there was the familiar whoosh of a time rotor, and the Doctor whirled around to watch the Master’s TARDIS, disguised as the iron maiden, disappear.

“Behold, our demon,” leered King John, “We too have tricks.”

The Master’s TARDIS materialized in the dungeon, and he freed Lady Isabella and her son. After being dubbed the king’s new champion, the Doctor arrested Sir Geoffrey as a ruse to get himself into the dungeon, where he knew the Master would have his TARDIS for safekeeping. The Master heard him coming through the corridors, hid, and watched.

The Doctor freed Turlough and sent him, Tegan, and Sir Geoffrey to find his TARDIS so that Geoffrey might be taken to London to warn the real king of the imposter. He activated the Tissue Compression Eliminator and was attaching it to the back of the Master’s TARDIS when he heard a familiar voice.

“Ah, ah, ah – that could really mess things up next time I dematerialize.”

The Doctor whirled, a slightly guilty look on his face. “Yes, well, that was rather the idea,” he admitted, tucking his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels slightly.

“Don’t you think sending me to my death once a day is quite enough?” The Master stepped very close to the Doctor, staring up into his face. “You were going to allow those barbaric creatures to impale me!” His outrage was feigned, but the other wasn’t to know that.

The Doctor closed his eyes against the accusation in his old friend’s face. Remembering the anguish he’d felt at having to make the choice, he lowered his head and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. The Master let his prey stew for a moment, then allowed himself to play.

“Oh, what lovely pain. Quite the gift.” The Doctor felt leather-clad fingertips touch the side of his face, a thumb brushing his cheek just below his eye as if to wipe away a tear. His head flew up, his eyes opened wide, and he gasped noiselessly in surprise. The Master’s face was just inches from his own. “But then you owe me some pain, after all the grief you’ve caused me. I’m here to collect.”

The gloved fingertips slid down his cheek and under his jaw, and the Master’s thumb rubbed back and forth across the Doctor’s lower lip, which was slightly swollen and red from being bitten. The Master seemed fascinated by it. The Doctor took hold of the Master’s arm as if to push his hand away from his face, but the Master grabbed that wrist with his other hand and pulled away with a slight tug. “Leave it,” the Master ordered calmly, looking up into the Doctor’s eyes. He didn’t let go of the wrist.

The Doctor blinked, trying to break the Master’s gaze. Lesser species were known to lose their will completely to that look. He’d given over a time or two himself when he was younger, albeit voluntarily. He tried to decipher the Master’s last statement, fighting against the effect of his proximity. “Collect?” he asked breathily, the Master’s thumb still rubbing his lip.

The Master shifted his thumb to the opposite side of the Doctor’s jaw from his fingers. “I said back in the main hall that you inspired me. Surely you don’t think just putting a little hitch in the history of this backwater planet is enough to satisfy me? I only bother with this species because they’re your special toys. I stir them up, and you come running to rescue them. It’s what I do then, to you, that’s satisfying…” The hand on the Doctor’s jaw pulled his face down ever so slightly until their lips met.

The Doctor unconsciously closed his eyes and relaxed into the kiss, relishing the familiar feel of the warm lips pressed against his. Sensing this, the Master demanded entrance to his mouth, tongue thrusting along the seam of his lips. The Doctor jerked his head back from the Master’s grip and his eyes snapped open. He raised his free hand to push the Master away, but that wrist was grabbed, too. “Stop. Listen!” ordered the Master, when the Doctor struggled to break the grip on his wrists.

“I have archers positioned at windows and arrow slits around the keep. They have orders to shoot at any of the ‘demons’, or anyone they appear to be helping, if I but shout out. Now, you can break free and risk losing one of your pets, or you can stay here and keep me too occupied to give that order. Which will it be, Doctor?”

The Doctor stared at the Master for a moment then relaxed his shoulders and arms, resigned. “What do you want?” he asked warily.

“I told you – pain.” The Master’s smile was not at all nice. “Yours.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened and he tried to step back, only to be brought up short by the Master’s grip on his wrists. “Fear’s good too, Doctor,” said his enemy. “Anguish, despair, grief, self-loathing: all perfectly acceptable. I want to watch you feel all these things. And you will.”

A stream of thoughts and emotions flickered behind the Doctor’s eyes: the surprise that he would mean so much to the Master, the memory that he always had, the curiosity about what would come next, the knowledge that it would be unpleasant, the hope that he could hide some of the pain, the realization that he probably couldn’t. The Master watched the show with an enormous amount of pleasure. This was the start of what he had come for.

The Master dropped the Doctor’s wrists. “Take off that ridiculous cloak.” He gestured to the floor-length fur-lined mantle the king had given the Doctor before appointing him the new champion.

The Doctor whirled and strode to the door. It was locked. “Ho, guards!” he called.

A wicked chuckle came from behind him. “Seriously, Doctor! I’ve just freed the lady of the manor and the heir. Who do you think the guards obey? They have orders to respond to no noises from this room except when I call for them. And they’re used to hearing some very bad things from here. It _is_ the dungeon.” The Doctor turned to stare at the Master with a bit of despair.

“Now, will you take off that cloak?” the Master repeated. The Doctor walked back to him, glared at him a moment, and obeyed. The Master kicked the cloak toward the wall holding the manacles. “And the rest.” His smile turned salacious.

The Doctor stared at him in disbelief. “No.”

“Your obedience, or your pets.” The Master’s smile acknowledged that either way, the Doctor lost. The Doctor shook his head slightly and pulled his jumper over his head.

When he noticed how avidly the Master was watching, he slowed down the process of undressing. He knew that no matter how much the Master talked about wanting to cause him pain, there had always been more than that between the two of them. His fingers undid his buttons slowly; he watched the black-gloved fingers clinch as his enemy fought the urge to take over. He allowed only the slightest gap to show in the front of his shirt until it was completely unfastened, then shifted his shoulders back and down so it slid off his arms to the floor. The sound of his trouser zip echoed a bit against the stone walls; the Master quite visibly swallowed. He slowly eased everything down his legs, bending slightly to pop each trainer off with a finger behind the heel before stepping free of the fabric.

When he finished, he moved until he stood in front of the Master, their bodies almost touching. Despite being completely naked, the Doctor felt like he had the upper hand, or at least equal footing, for the first time since the Master had entered the room. “Done,” he pronounced quietly, looking down at the Master.

The Doctor watched the Master’s pupils dilate and lips part slightly, but did not let the knowledge show on his face. The Master raised a hand as if to touch the Doctor’s chest, then caught himself. The evil smile returned to his face as he turned sideways and changed the hand movement to a gesture to the wall behind him. “Manacles.”

The Doctor just looked at him, refusing to let any emotion show on his face. “Front or back?” he inquired.

“Oh, I want to see your face, Doctor,” came the answer. The Doctor walked onto the cloak, turned so his back was to the wall, and held out his wrists to be locked in the iron bands at the ends of chains fastened to the wall at waist height.

Snapping the second manacle closed, the Master stepped back to admire the sight. Anticipating slightly what was to come and unable to help himself, the Doctor responded to his attention. The Master noticed, and smiled.

He walked back over to the Doctor, and raised a gloved hand to stroke his cheek as he looked up into his eyes. “This is quite a pretty regeneration, Doctor.” The black leather-clad fingers trailed along his jaw, down his neck, and stroked his collarbone. The Doctor’s breaths became shallower and a little faster. “Silky gold hair, wide blue eyes.” The fingers slid down his chest. “Delightful young body. You did well.” The gloves tweaked a nipple. The Doctor winced as the pain shot straight to his groin.

“The one you’re using is rather handsome itself, in a dark way,” the Doctor replied. “It’s a shame its rightful owner wasn’t finished with it when you stole it. I rather liked Tremas,” he finished, his intonation meant to imply that he didn't care for the person in the body now.

The black-clad hand whipped up and slapped his face with a resounding crack, turning the Doctor's head to the side. He closed his eyes to absorb the pain, then turned back to stare down at the Master, who was seething slightly. “I’d have had the whole planet if you hadn’t interfered, and that old fool could have kept his body. So I guess you have yourself to blame.” The Master enjoyed watching the Doctor’s face as a red handprint appeared on his cheek while he accepted the guilt of another innocent’s death with his eyes.

He returned his fingertips to the Doctor’s chest, just between his hearts. “Ah, but you got a new pet out of the deal,” he continued with a smile. The black leather trailed straight down, slowly. “A pretty, clever young thing; heart-broken and seeking a father-figure. I’m sure you enjoyed her.” The fingers paused just at the pubic bone, causing the Doctor’s cock to bob in anticipation of being touched.

The Doctor closed his eyes. “Only as traveling company. I would never take advantage of someone like that.”

He felt leather encircle him. “Meaning I would?” asked the Master, his voice calm and even.

The Doctor opened his eyes to stare into those of his worst enemy, his oldest friend, his life-long torment. Even knowing the consequences, he would not lie. It would be too obvious. Besides, the truth would strike a return blow, if he could keep his voice just as conversational. “Yes.”

The resulting squeeze -- the punishment for his answer -- made his knees buckle and his vision go black.

The Master caught him up against the wall with a hand under his jaw. “So I would,” he replied, and attacked his mouth with a punishing kiss. The Doctor, still reeling from the pain, let the Master take whatever he wanted.

As he regained control of his body, the Doctor began reciprocating the kiss. The Master’s hand on his jaw slid back to tangle in his hair. The one that had delivered the punishing squeeze started stroking; the warm, smooth leather was a maddening sensation on the most sensitive areas of the Doctor's body, drawing a little moan from his throat. Although chained, the Doctor could bring his hands up to run them down the black velvet coat covering the other man. He put them as far as he could around the Master’s back and dug his fingers into the plush fabric to bring him closer.

The Master broke off the kiss, but neither man moved his hands. They were both breathing hard, staring at each other intently. “Take off the manacles. I’m not going anywhere,” the Doctor said softy.

The Master just stood there. His eyes said he was waiting for something more.

“Please,” breathed the Doctor. "I'm yours." The Master still waited.

“Master.”

After the Master unlocked the cuffs, the Doctor’s fingers went to the buttons of the black velvet coat to open it. After easing it down his arms, the Doctor took one of the Master's hands in his own and then looked up with just his eyes, silently asking permission to take off the glove. An almost-imperceptible nod gave it. Gloves, shirt, and trousers were carefully removed, the Doctor's fingertips sliding down the skin he was exposing as each piece came off. The smile on the Master’s face as he was undressed showed that he was thoroughly enjoying the Doctor's subservience, especially when the Doctor kneeled at his feet to remove his boots. But the Doctor just looked up at him when he was done and held up a hand to pull him down onto the fur of the cloak, showing neither shame nor fear.

The Master put most of his weight behind another deep, hard kiss, while stroking the Doctor’s cock. When he got the pre-come he was seeking, he used it to ease a finger inside the Doctor. Nine hundred years of meeting in strange situations had taught both of them to settle for whatever was available and besides, the Master found the combined look of pain and bliss on the Doctor’s face irresistible. One finger became two, and the moans coming from the Doctor’s throat grew louder.

Finally, the Master removed his fingers and positioned himself. “Doctor. Look at me.” The Doctor's eyes opened, and the Master waited until he was sure the other was focused on him. “Say my name.”

The Doctor whispered, “Master.” The Master forced his way in slowly. The tightness, the heat, the way the Doctor’s face showed everything he was feeling: once again worth the decades of waiting, the years of plotting. Setting his fingertips on the side of the Doctor's face, he pushed into his enemy's mind the way he'd pushed into his body, but found even less resistance.

The Doctor refused to let the other have the pleasure of forcing his memories out of him. Knowing what the Master sought, the Doctor laid it all out for him: the multitude of tiny losses as his traveling companions left him, or he left them; the grief and guilt of being unable to save Adric; the hole in his life that a young, wickedly-smart Time Lady left when she chose to remain in E-space; his despair as his oldest friend tore apart space, deceived him as he worked to restore it, and then left him to fall to his death.

The Master trembled in delight at idea that he was the cause of the Doctor's grief. He paused a second to let the feeling wash over him, then slowly pulled out nearly all the way. “Again.”

“Master.” The stroke was faster this time, aided by the Doctor raising his hips to meet him. He also showed the Master his doubts about doing any good at all in the universe no matter how many messes he cleaned up, how many planets he saved from tyrants, or Daleks, or Cybermen, or the man currently driving himself inside him.

“Again.”

“Master.” He handed the Master his guilt for giving into this instead of fighting it, and his self-loathing at feeling so good in the hands of the one who repeatedly betrayed him and attempted to kill him. As a reward, the Master’s hand gripped the Doctor’s cock and stroked in time with his thrusts.

The Doctor lost the ability for coherent speech or thought. His hips bucked as he thrust himself up onto the Master, his head turned to one side, eyes closed, hands gripping the fur that stroked him from beneath every time he moved. His moans came in short bursts with every panting breath. Finally he stiffened every muscle and came with a short cry, then relaxed, shuddering.

The Master burned the image of the Doctor completely out of control onto his memory, forced it into the Doctor's consciousness as well, then closed his eyes and with one final thrust, joined him.

Knowing there was more to do, the Master pulled away long before he would have liked to. He wiped himself off and dressed. The Doctor was still lying on the fur, eyes closed. The Master wondered briefly which one of the two of them it was the Doctor couldn’t face, and decided either would do.

Scooping up the Doctor’s clothes, he tossed them at their owner, very barely missing his face. The Doctor opened his eyes and raised his head slightly so he could focus on the other man.

“If I were truly cruel, I’d put you back in those chains and leave you just like this for your pets to find. But it pleased me, what you gave to me, seeing you unable to control yourself.

“So we go back to the game. Your pets live -- even the little ginger bitch that chucked a knife at me in public -- but Sir Geoffrey must die. Can’t have him reaching the king. You’ll have to find another way to stop me, Doctor. For now, _adieu_!” The Master wheeled and walked to the door, called for the guard, and left. The door was left slightly open.

The Doctor slowly rolled his stiff body to a sitting position and wincing, dressed. As he stood, a thought occurred to him. He walked over and checked the back of the Master’s TARDIS.

The TCE was still attached.


End file.
